She moved as one unconscious of the troubled life and the vibrating world
about her.
The hand of the child admitted her to the chamber of death; the door
closed, and she stood motionless.
The Cure made as if to rise and go towards her, but Madame Chalice,
sitting sorrowful and dismayed at the foot of the couch, by a motion of
her hand stopped him.
The girl paused a moment, listening. "Your Excellency," she whispered.
It was as if a soul leaned out of the casement of life, calling into the
dark and the quiet which may not be comprehended by mortal man.
"Monsieur--Valmond !"
Her trembling hands were stretched out before her yearningly. The Cure
moved. She turned towards the sound with a pitiful vagueness.
"Valmond, O Valmond!" again she cried beseechingly, her clouded eyes
straining into the silence.
The cloak dropped from her shoulders, and the loose robe enveloping her
fell away from a bosom that throbbed with the passion of a great despair.
Nothing but silence.
She moved to the wall like a little child feeling its way, ran her hand
vaguely along it, and touched a crucifix.
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